Toy Soldiers, Angel Blades, and Empty Flasks
by Light Brown Shoes
Summary: Something in Cas snapped, something in Cas broke, something in Cas took over, and now Sam lay dead on the ground while Dean lived and breathed and rotted away on the inside.


He had stumbled out to his car an hour ago, carrying two cases of beer, a flask, the five shots that were already in him, and more guilt and sadness than he had ever felt before. He sat in the Impala in the motel parking lot, the moon hidden behind so many dark clouds, no light peeking through. The motel didn't have any outside lights- even the motel sign was burned out. It was almost completely dark.

He had the heat on full blast, and the Legos were rattling in the vent. After he heard them, he remembered the army man- Sammy's army man- and he used a knife to cut out the little green figure. He clutched it now, the small gun digging into his thumb as he raised the flask once more to his lips, the liquor no longer burning his throat, only sloshing around his stomach, bloating him. Empty beer containers were strewn everywhere, some were shattered, their glass broken onto a million pieces against the wheel. Cuts- some deeper than others, traced his hands, but he didn't notice the pain. His gun was resting on his thigh, and, flexing his bloody fingers, he reached out and grabbed it, the metal grip familiar in his hands, but colder now. Heavier, too. He shook his head, closing his eyes against the onslaught of memories, but the images rushed through his head no matter what else he tried to think about.

_-Sam lying on the ground, broken and bloody, Cas standing above him, his face empty of all emotion, Sam's eyes open, the amount of emotion in them matching that in Cas's eyes, his baby brother looking right at Dean but not seeing him-_

_-Cas's face as the silver blade tore through him, Cas's face as he looked into Dean's eyes and then down at Dean's hand, which was shoving the blade further into him and twisting it to make him pay with his pain. Cas's body lying in the ground, his black wings charred into the grass, smoldering, bigger than Dean could have imagined-_

He took one more swig, finishing off the flask and tossing it roughly into the backseat. The memories weren't drowning- each minute that passed brought them into sharper focus, brought the feelings and the sights and the motions into a clearer light despite the amount of alcohol he had swallowed, flowing through his head even with his hands pressed against his temples. He rested his head against the steering wheel, his breathing shallow and shaky. The silence around him was smothering him, suffocating him, because even with the heat running and the Legos rattling and his breath rasping everything was so goddamned _quiet._

He squeezed his hand, expecting to feel the green man dig into his palm, and was surprised to find that he had dropped the army man to grab his gun.

_-he had squeezed Sammy's hand and there was almost everything broken bones blood torn muscle everything but life-_

Frantically, he bent side to side, running his hands along the carpet, the seat, the no-man's land between the seat and the door, looking for the green figure, desperate to find it, to find something that Sammy had touched, to hold it because he couldn't hold his little brother anymore, never again, and he could feel his heart breaking down with each passing moment-

All because of Cas. Cas, who was supposed to be his friend but had forced Dean to feel such loss, who had forced Dead to shove the blade through his chest and the horrible moment where he realized that, yes, he had killed his brother's killer but he had also killed another family member, because _family don't end with blood, boy, _and-

Dean's hand skidded over the man, his fingers snagging it and pulling it back up, a wave of relief passing through him because now he might be able to say goodbye to Sam.

_-he had just left them there both of them lying on top of the grass in that field he didn't pick up his brother he didn't carry him to a better place he stumbled away, screaming, tears blurring his vision desperate to find a crossroads quickly before- before what? He didn't know, but he needed to find a crossroads quickly- and he stumbled down the road for almost twenty minutes before the thought struck him-_

_What if Sammy was in heaven now?_

_and he dropped to his knees and sobbed in a way that would have embarrassed him if he could feel anything other than this gut-wrenching sadness, than this bone shattering loss, and fianlly fianlly fianlly when the moon was high in the sky he stood up and walked to his car, not numb but painfully aware as he drove to the motel, leaving the bodies behind because if he looked at them now he would-_

He wasn't able to before because Cas took them by surprise and Dean was too busy trying to find the fallen blade, desperately sifting through the tall grasses while Sam was holding him off and then there was a scream and Dean looked over and Sammy was falling, and, now, even if the little toy man wasn't his little brother, it was something that he had touched and that had to be good enough.

"I-I'm sorry, Sammy," he whispered, his voice wrong in the silence. It needed to be his brother's voice, it needed to be the ang- no. Not that voice. His brother's voice, and only his brother's voice, would make everything right.

A string of curses ran though his head, scratching against the images of Sammy's eyes, of Sammy's hand, of Sammy's body, denting Cas's face, Cas's wings, Cas's actions. But not erasing them. Not even close.

Dean sat back, the view in front of him blurring, his eyes hot and prickly. He glanced down, then, at the gun he was clutching in his hand.

"I might see you soon, though."

_-not Cas though he'd never see Cas again and as much as he hated him right now he still felt his lungs give out when he realized this when he realized where he'd sent the angel and he hated himself for that but Cas was family too and-_

He took a breath that did nothing for his lungs and pointed the gun at his temple, squeezing the army man and steadying his hand. His heart was picking up pace, his mind whirling, old horrors flickering back and forth with images of the bar that would hold his brother and his friends and Bobby and he could- he would- see them all again, very, very soon.


End file.
